“ ‘Arthur,’ ” warned the coach. “That’s you. Mr. Corthell. Ready. Well then, Mademoiselle Gretry, you have something to say there.”

“I can’t say it,” murmured the Gretry girl, her handkerchief to her face.

“What now? Continue. Your lines are ‘I must not be seen here. It would betray all,’ then conceal yourself in the arbor. Continue. Speak the line. It is the cue of Arthur.”

“I can’t,” mumbled the girl behind her handkerchief.

“Can’t? Why, then?”

“I⁠—I have the nosebleed.”

Upon the instant Monsieur Gerardy quite lost his temper. He turned away, one hand to his head, rolling his eyes as if in mute appeal to heaven, then, whirling about, shook his playbook at the unfortunate Marion, crying out furiously: